


The Truth

by IntrovertedWife



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Answer, Dark, F/M, Ferelden, Grey Warden - Freeform, Mage, Politics, The Calling, maternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedWife/pseuds/IntrovertedWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After crawling through information before setting out on her hunt to solve the Calling, the Hero of Ferelden makes a grave discovery that will change everything for Alistair. But how can she convince Fiona to tell him the truth?</p><p>It always bugged me that the HoF must know about Fiona and her time with the architect but either never put the pieces together or didn't bother to tell Alistair the truth. So I wrote something to fill in the gap. </p><p>Set a year before Inquisition. TW for miscarriage</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/gifts).



"Thank you for arranging this, Teagen." I patted him across the shoulder, griming up his finery with dirt from the road. He, of course, said nothing. Most of the residents of Redcliffe's castle gave us a wide berth, more out of deference than fear. But every once in awhile I caught a worried glance or wince in my wake. It seemed I rarely carried good news anymore.

Teagan shrugged off my gratitude, "It is nothing for the Hero of Ferelden."

With my staff, I measured my steps out the great hall and down a back corridor inhabited by a platoon of rats. Teagen did what he could to strip the castle and rebuild it, but my mind's eye drew up the corpses that once shambled through the halls. I doubted I was the only one.

"Please don't call me that," I said.

"Why not? Alistair does."

"Yes, but when he says it it's clearly a joke. Like everything Alistair says. You sound full of reverence and awe for something eight, no, nine years past."

Teagan twisted his head, not happy with my denouncement. Streaks of grey offset the braid down his auburn locks. How had I not noticed that the last time we saw each other? Was it age or the brutal strains of trying times that weighed upon him? Upon us both? Maker, how did so much time go by without my noticing?

He paid no heed to my musings, still smiling as he guided me up the back stairs, "It is still a fact we owe you a debt. Ferelden would have been lost."

"Most seem happy to forget that," I grumbled. Visits to Denerim grew rarer over the years. How quickly their memories faded, the gentry preferring to fall back to their old political machinations and wipe away any debt a grey warden could hover them.

Those deep water Guerrin eyes landed upon me. He may play the soft touch, but Teagan was no idiot. Sighing, I said, "Hero of a Ferleden is a title with a limited lifespan. Someone else may come around to save it. You could call me the Arcane Advisor, or Warden Ambassador. Those are rather popular now. Or there's the old fall back of King's Whore."

I shouldn't have said it, not to Teagan. Out of all the nobles whose land I rescued from not just blight but civil war, he was the only one to welcome me back each year with open arms and nary a question of what I could do for him. He glanced away from me, uncertain how to proceed. A servant stumbled into our wake. She bowed to the Arl then blinked uncertainly at the mage traipsing beside him. Teagen smiled at her, that charm which endeared him to the entire arling overtaking the poor thing. She stumbled in her step, a bloom rising off her cheeks. How was that man still not married? He seemed as immune to it as the problem looming across all of Ferelden.

"How are things in Denerim?" he asked, trying to shift to a softer topic, but it only dredged up jagged memories.

I didn't leave on the happiest of notes.

***

Alistair burrowed his face into the small of my back. Maker only knew why he loved doing it; his arm hooking around my stomach as his stubble tickled with words spoken against me. I couldn't make out what he said and asked for clarification.

"Do you have to leave so soon?"

"It won't be for a couple more days," I said, running my fingers along his hand clutching tight.

"But you only just arrived," he complained, that patch of face fur around his chin itching my naked skin.

"Three months ago," I countered. With a heavy sigh, he wormed his way higher up the bed until his breath danced across the nape of my neck.

"And now you're off again, for Maker knows how long, to stop the world and save bad guys."

"Yes, that is my exact itinerary. Day one, stop world. Day two, save bad guys. Day three, crown nug king. Day four, mass orgy."

His touch caressed down my bare arms, then rising up to circle the shoulders - always hesitant to drop down to my breasts. Even after all this time he was still shocked a naked woman dared to share his bed. "Court won't be the same without you," Alistair whispered near my ear.

"You'll manage, you always do."

Normally that would be the end of it, but his hand clung tighter, pulling me to him. "Why do you have to go?"

"You know why."

"No, all I got was duty, and honor, and other motto words that amount to a massive headache."

"Eamon's been on you about it more than I have. If Gaspard becomes Emperor of Orlais, it's right back to the war. A war that could last another decade or more."

"So?" Maker that man could play obtuse when he wanted. It worked surprisingly well in his favor with diplomats, most screaming to any demands just to get him to stop being such an idiot. Right now I wanted to bludgeon him with the only weapon handy, which was sadly a pillow.

"The bannorn will not be happy until you produce or name an heir," I stated the obvious. He knew it, had known it since the moment he accepted that damn crown, but somehow it kept getting pushed back to a later problem. We've still got darkspawn, I'll solve that heir issue later. Oh wait, there's Orlais mucking about in politics again, no time to pick that heir. And what's this? A mage rebellion?! Nope, heir stuff has to wait. But it couldn't any longer. Everyone was more than aware of the clock ticking above their king's head even if few were told the full truth of the calling.

But Alistair shoved it all aside, his lips brushing down my back. Despite the obvious attempt to distract me yet again, I couldn't help but sigh at the touch I spent more of my life craving than getting. "So," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss, "let's get married."

"Just like that. The King of Ferelden and an elven mage."

"Hero of Ferelden sounds better on the stationery. I know I could never get better. And there's some other stuff add after, right? Didn't the dwarves name you a thing or what not? Scrubber of the stone?"

We used to joke about it when Derenim was still a smoking husk from the darkspawn. Oh, what if we ran to the chantry and ordered them to wed us before the nobility sobered up. Who could say no while a massive archdemon's corpse rotted at the top of the tower? Let the bannorn raise hell, we've got love on our side. Surely that will shield us from an entire country lusting after the contested throne.

Alistair ran his fingers across my hip, drumming them down my thigh, "I know a place that sells cheap trebuchets. A few mercs, hire some pirates out of Rivain and the bannorn won't know what hit 'em."

"Don't." I didn't mean to plead but the word thudded from my lips. His exploring fingers froze and yanked away. Cold seeped into my skin from the loss of his touch. I flipped around quickly and stared into that doleful face. "I didn't mean," I started. This was why we joked about it. It was easier. "If I can find a cure for the taint, stop the calling, then maybe we'll have some breathing room. Keep the gentry happy."

He shifted his mile long stare upon me and I shuddered. "This need of yours to solve the calling, it..." Sighing deeply, he continued, "it wouldn't have anything to do with your losing a baby?"

I reared back, "How do you know about that?"

"Teagan was concerned, pale as a sheet when he confessed it, and thought I should be told. Unlike you." Of course, out of all the times for the Arl to walk in on me covered in blood, it had to be when there wasn't a bandit in sight I could blame it upon. It was more than a bit awkward to beg for silence while still admitting whose it had been. Not that I didn't feel the occasional noble watching the size of my waistline closer than they should. Everyone knew who shared the king's bed but weren't about to call the woman that killed an archdemon on it. At least not to her face.

"Alistair, I...I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me? Are you all right?"

I nodded softly, "I'm fine. It wasn't that much blood, and," I flared my fist, casting a soft blue flame, "I haven't forgotten how to magic shit. It's fine."

"You already said that."

Placing my hand against his cheek, I drunk in his wounded eyes. He didn't turn away. "I didn't tell you about them because I didn't want you to worry."

"Them? How many have there been?"

Shit! Even I fell for the idiot ploy sometimes. "Four, though none were as far along as this past one. A month or two and then heavy bleeding. Which, given my profession it's a wonder I noticed at all." The joke went over about as well as I'd expected. The man I loved looked like I'd stomped on his face, ripped out his heart, and kicked his kitten for good measure. If it weren't for my connection with spirits, it's doubtful I'd have noticed the loss as little more than some extra bleeding.

"What about this last one?" he asked. His hand drifted towards my broken womb, but he paused, terrified of hurting me.

"Three months, maybe more. Calendar can get a bit muddled in the deep road. I don't know why it lasted longer. Maybe too much elfroot in my diet. I..." a sob broke my sentence. Alistair wrapped his arms around me, pulling my head to his chest. Even angry at my deceit he still needed to comfort me, to try and soothe a loss I barely understood myself. A child from an elf mage wouldn't solve the problems of the crown, it would just exacerbate them. There's already one bastard on the throne, another could jeopardize everything. And if it had magic...

A kiss landed upon my head as he rubbed up and down my arms. I burrowed deeper into him, willing away an ache that could never be salved. I didn't tell him because how could I? So, funny story, I got knocked up a few times and lost the baby before it got bigger than pea. Cramped like crazy and made a mess, but otherwise I'm good. Yeah, it's probably that taint stuff. Sucks we're both Grey Wardens, eh?

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled into my hair.

And that was the other reason. I knew, despite the fact I was the one regularly running headlong into brood mother lairs and charging dragons, he'd blame himself. If he didn't know then he couldn't feel the pain. It seemed a kinder cut.

I pulled back from his chest to find tears streaking down his pale skin. When did I start crying? Wiping the evidence away with my thumb, I planted a kiss upon his slack lips. Just give me something normal for a moment. Please? Alistair sensed my need and returned the kiss, his fingers combing my hair.

"If I'd known, I could have done - you know - things to help. I do have some control. Generally."

I couldn't stop the laugh at his earnestness, "I can control it as well. Better than you thanks to magic. But I didn't think it necessary. I assumed Grey Wardens couldn't even conceive. Oops."

"Maker," he pulled me back into a hug. "Is this why you want to cure the calling?"

"No. Even if I could reverse it, I doubt it would repair ten years worth of damage to all the baby making bits." I'd thought often about the implications, the high cost the Wardens required, but it was the first time I ever said it aloud. Growing up in the circle, children were an accident. A dangerous one at that. Whatever you gave birth to was whisked off to the chantry, never to be seen again. I'd never put much thought into having a child, much less one with an entire nation breathing down its neck.

The man I couldn't stop loving sighed, his arms slacking in their grip. "I don't understand. Massive surprise, I know."

"If I can give us time, more than another ten or twenty years, maybe... There has to be an answer out there. Something to save Grey Wardens from this curse. And it's not as if I haven't delved deep into long forgotten ruins before."

"And each time I nearly had a heart attack until you came home safe," he countered, kissing my forehead. "I don't want to lose you to a fool's errand."

"Oh, I see how it is. You can risk your own life, the damn country even, to run off to Antiva and then Seheron chasing a ghost, but not me researching the blight."

"That was completely different."

"How?"

"In a different way that was in no way like what you want to do," he stuttered around his flimsy argument. I could have killed Zevran for sending him that damn note. Why didn't he contact me, give me a chance to use my contacts? Alistair insisted he had to go it alone, not even letting Eamon send a few bodyguards to protect the out-of-practice king. I was too busy with other matters, and he insisted it would be a minor stop over to crash a Crow prison.

At least he took the time to send a few letters back to me, each one sounding more and more hopeful that he'd find Maric alive. That he could pass this burden off to his father, the true king of Ferelden. With each one, I felt a knot widening in my stomach -- he was risking his own neck not just to change his destiny, to secure his country, but to be with me. When he came back dejected, once again failing to cling to that family thread he craved, I broke inside too.

Eamon ripped him to shreds after that, for endangering the throne, the country, and possibly dragging Ferelden into a war it couldn't hope to win with Tevinter. It also started the clock.

I pushed back the blonde hairs sticking to his forehead, curling each one back the way he liked. "I promise I'll come back."

"You always say that."

"And I always do," I smiled, lightly kissing his slack lips.

But he didn't brighten, "What about the day you don't?" He sat up in bed away from me, his eyes drifting downwards to the old blanket from our campsite. The thing was threadbare to the point of being see through, but he insisted upon sleeping below it. If any servant tried to replace it with a new, they saw true anger in their king.

Picking at the edges, Alistair said, "I know, okay. I'm not stupid. Eamon's been parading the least terrifying of 'available' noble women under my nose for months. Did you know one of them dressed like a mabari? Wore an actual collar and got all painted up like she as about to run into battle. Even barked through the finger food course. I hid in the cellar to get away."

Running my fingers across his thigh, I could only sigh, "Alistair."

"Yeah, yeah, Sire means you need to sire. I got that bit from the big book of kinging. But I don't want to, okay. Shit, it probably wouldn't work anymore anyway."

A morbid thought twisted my tongue, "It's a shame you aren't more like your father?"

"Taking advantage of some poor scullery maid?" he snorted at his own creation.

I shrugged, "It did save Ferelden in the end."

"Yeah, they got stuck with me. Whoopee," he sighed, crumbling in on himself.

Rising up to a sit, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling my head to his shoulder, "It could have been a lot worse."

"Oh?"

"We could have put the dog in charge."

"Ha!" Alistair laughed, then paused and stroked his chin, "Actually, get a blonde wig, a set of armor to fit, and it might fool some of the banns."

I snorted at the idea of the king of Ferelden being a literal dog. The Orlesians would adore it, patting its head and guffawing at the little tail wagging through the gap in the throne. Alistair revived from my smile, his own ornery one appearing as he described how the reign of King Barkspawn the First would go. Snuggling deeper into him, I let his tale wash over uninterrupted. He paused during the great ascension of Andrascat to bring about eternal peace and table scraps and drew my face to his. After a deep kiss, he ran a finger down my cheek and said, "Now you don't have a reason to leave."

And in that moment I didn't wish to. Why was it always my job to ensure the continuation of a country that tolerated my kind? Leave it up to someone else. Just let me be with the man I love and the rest can fall into the ocean. I pulled him tighter into a hug when the door to his room swung open.

"Sire, I hope you're awake because --" One of Eamon's toadies stumbled at the pair of us wrapped around each other; or possibly the sight of his king's naked ass.

Alistair twisted around to face him and raised a shoulder at the man, "Well..."

"I, uh, was sent to fetch you for a meeting with lady..."

Alistair waved him away, the lady's name falling into the void. "Wonderful, great, I'll be sure to rush right down to her." He turned back to me, running his fingers through my hair, in no mood to obey the order. But the toady didn't move, only shifted uncomfortably on his heels. "What is it?" Alistair snapped.

"He said right away..." then the eyes glanced over me, the unwelcoming sneer snapping into place, "and alone."

Alistair sighed with the dramatics of a bard, throwing his hands up to the sky as if the Maker cursed him. Then he ran his hands down his naked chest, "Do you think I should go like this? Might as well get it all out in the open, eh? Here ya go ladies, here's what you're competing for. Is it worth it?"

The toady glanced down the hall, praying for intervention, but no one appeared, "I can leave you to get dressed, but you should do so quickly." He stepped back, dragging the door with him. Before shutting it, he threw out, "Please put pants on."

Alistair feigned hurt at the parting comment, glancing downward at himself, "It's not that bad, is it?"

I pressed against his back, my hands running the gambit of his aging but still toned body down to that prick that was suddenly the most important thing in Thedas to the nobility. He shuddered at my touch, throwing his head back and nearly colliding with my mouth. "You're going, aren't you?" he asked me even as I got him going.

Nodding against his shoulder, I said, "I need to."

He sighed, "There are some books in the library, old diaries or something from Maric's time with the Wardens." I paused in my evil machinations to lean forward and beam a question into his eyes. "I thought every little bit might help. Anything to get you back here faster. I hear they're thinking about upgrading the kitchen with a cheese fountain."

"Thank you," I said, ignoring the cheese fountain. He picked up my wandering hand and brought it to his mouth. Sliding back, I released my unholy hold on him so he could follow his orders; but Alistair flipped around, pinning me back to the bed. He kissed me deeply, sliding in between my legs. Gasping in surprise, I wiggled deeper into him, "What are you doing? You don't have time for this."

That smile that won me over the first time we met danced across his face. "I believe someone once told me, 'No one tells a king what to do.'"

He tried to get me to give up my quest each time we saw each other, which, after Lady em dash grew so impatient waiting she upended one of the statues beside the throne, was rare. But I needed to do this, to find an answer that some had stumbled into before. And then I found something inside those diaries. Maric kept it distant and vague but a couple names caught my eye, as did a few dates. Before setting out I got a message to Arl Teagan who was more than happy to host me before I began my full journey.

***

I smiled at Teagan's leading question and told him, "Denerim is as fine as any place can be in these trying times."

"Will we ever reach a point when we are no longer in trying times?" he asked. Leaning past me, he nodded at a guard standing point beside a door.

"Peace leads to idleness," I said, rolling my staff to my other hand. The guard watched my movements but didn't reach out. He was already used to the sight of mages filling Redcliffe to bursting.

Teagan laughed at my comment. "I could use with some idleness. Growing fat sounds nice." He nodded the guard aside, and cracked open the door. It was one of the lesser libraries in the castle. The great one once housed a massive rage demon and still tasted of brimstone if I spent too long inside it. Any mage's hair stood on end from the ragged ends of the veil flapping about; even the servants skittered the edges not wishing to remain.

Out of deference for his guests, Teagan formed a smaller library in a room overlooking the courtyard. A few shelves were crammed to bursting with popular tomes, the rest scattered across thedesks and single reading chair. Today, three mages filled the tiny room. Two clutched staffs still spitting with an aura that raised my hackles. The third didn't need to carry a weapon.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona," Teagan said, dipping his head towards her.

She still wore the robes of the circle. Most of the higher ranking rebels did, in fact, while the ones on the fringes switched to rags and pants as soon as the opportunity arouse.

Her face was young, far too young for her age, or the fact the taint once ran through her blood, as it still did in mine. She tipped her head like a proper circle mage greeting the nobility, "Arl Teagan, you've invited us here for a meeting. Is there a problem with the current arrangement?"

He shook his head, then turned towards me. Unknotting the cloak across my shoulders, I revealed the blue and silver griffin perched across my chest. There were no chantry silks or circle furs across my body. It was Grey Warden all the way down; darkspawn blood tainted the silver sheen to a morbid rust.

"I asked for this meeting," I said.

Fiona's sharp eyes turned to me; a snake eyeing up a mouse in the grass, "Ah, Lady Surana. This is a surprise. I thought you wanted nothing to do with this rebellion despite the fact your fellow mages only wish for the same freedoms you yourself enjoy."

I didn't rise to the bait, it bounced harmlessly off my barriers. This was a discussion I'd had so often I could raise each counterargument in my sleep. Instead, I turned towards Teagan and said, "Could you give us a minute alone?"

He glanced towards the three senior enchanters, then back to me - as if I hadn't taken on that many alone before. Holding my hand, he shook it lightly, "As you wish." He turned towards the door, but paused, "If you need me, I'll be in the windmill."

An old code of ours; Teagan would remain close. He was wary of the mage rebellion, we all were. Sympathetic to the cause, perhaps, but no one wants an abomination rolling through their streets in the middle of the night. I stood alone facing down the heads of the rebellion. One of Fiona's backup I recognized, a First Enchanter from the circle in Nevarra. He was a fickle man; the only thing that drove him more than finding a proper place for everything was the draw of power. People slated him to take over as Grand Enchanter before the dark horse of a woman once a Grey Warden swooped in.

Now, thanks to a mistake of my own making charging impeded through Kirkwall like a frothing bronto, he had to share the stage with his hated rival. It was rather poetic.

Fiona took her time, eyeing me up. "Your curt letter made your opinion rather clear that you had no use for us," she said, her accent far frillier than I imagined. We'd never spoken before, only watched each others trajectory from the shadows. Mages could give bards a run for their coin. "And yet, here you are."

"You, of all people, know why I could not join a side in this chaos."

"Do I?" she said, tipping her head. It was a coy move probably born out of years dipping into Orlesian and chantry politics but my mind blanked. In still paintings they looked nothing alike. The Therin bloodline was strong, gifting Cailan and Alistair the same face as their father. But when she twisted her head and pulled her eyes into feigned ignorance I saw the resemblance everyone else missed.

Rebounding, I folded my arms, "I'm not here to talk about the rebellion."

"Why call upon me, then?"

"This is regarding the Grey Wardens," I began.

But Fiona snickered, "You know more about them and their secretive ways than I do. It's been nearly thirty years since I left the order."

"The Grey Wardens," I continued over her interruption, "your time in Ferelden with the Architect, and King Alistair," I couldn't hide the flash of my teeth with the final word. Her porcelain face remained static, but panic flared behind those emerald eyes. "It would be best if we could discuss this in private," I said. "Grey Warden matters and all."

"Yes, I see, of course." She twisted to her two bodyguards, "The Hero of Ferelden is right. It would be best if we talk alone."

The woman shook her head, "That isn't smart, Fiona. What if it's a trick?"

But the Grand Enchanter scoffed, "She may not be on our side, but you really think Surana is a templar plot? That the Grey Wardens would risk neutrality to side with destroying the rebellion? If so, our enemies are more devious than we give them credit for."

Her entourage grumbled, eyeing me up. They saw what most did, a scrap of an elf in molding and tainted armor. Nobility who'd never met me tended to laugh at the idea of this being the feared Warden. That woman took down a massive dragon? Nonsense. Her arms are the size of...Then they notice my taut skin clinging to striated muscle, flesh pocked and twisted from dragon's fire, the length of my commanding stride, and that I just set their curtains on fire. Everyone needs a hobby.

Fiona gestured to the door, "I trust our friend here has no ill intentions upon me."

"Assuming you have none upon me."

"This will only be a moment," the Grand Enchanter continued, now leading her bodyguards towards the door. They grumbled more, unhappy with having to leave her alone as well as following her orders. Mage politics and the fraternities didn't fade with the circles, they only grew less formal but with more bite. If Fiona fell, so would the rebellion to infighting.

Both bodyguards made similar assurances that they'd remain near in case I snapped, while one of Teagan's soldiers hovered close. Slowly they shuttered the door, locking Fiona and I off from the rest of the world.

An ease slipped back into her movements as she began to browse the books in the shelves behind her. I let her putter around, growing the tension that stirred from us into the fade until she finally waved a hand to me, "Say what you came to say."

"You lied to him."

She stumbled, the book in her fingers slipping and clattering to the floor. I heard footsteps outside the door and a few people bickering, but no one opened it. Fiona stooped down, picking up the book. Her words stuttered, "What do you mean?"

"I could drag this out, talk about what I discovered: the convenient dates, the stories of Maric heading into the deep roads with a band of Grey Wardens. Another young Grey Warden mysteriously returning to Ferelden the same year of his birth, but I don't see the point. You lied to him."

"I did no such thing," she said. I was surprised. I'd expected outright denial or feigned ignorance of the subject at hand. But she spoke as if she'd almost anticipated this discussion.

"He grew up believing his mother was a servant in the castle. A girl he killed just by being born."

"I was not the one to tell him such lies," Fiona skipped around the truth. I couldn't help but scoff at her response. "His father or that previous Arl made up some excuse. I had nothing to do with it."

Snarling more than I meant, I inched towards her. "That's a backhanded excuse if I've ever heard one."

"Am I to be on trial here?" she rose up, not about to back down to some upstart, "He was given a chance, a life better than he'd have gotten with me. Away from the Grey Wardens and the crown."

"Wonderful job there."

Her nose crinkled with the deep frown from acknowledging that all her machinations led Alistair to become that which she most feared for him. It was the first sign of life below that Orlesian porcelain, "As I understand it, the last part was your work."

"You think you know me? Assume I placed him on the throne for my own desires? That I'd put his happiness above my own needs? Do you even know him? He is your son!"

I didn't mean to raise my voice, but the 'son' screamed out of my throat begging for explanation. Discovering the truth, stumbling blindly into it, cracked me. I couldn't understand what I read. It would be one thing if Fiona was a Grey Warden mage that remained in the Anderfalls and took the Calling. But she was here, in Ferelden. She even had to petition the crown for the rebellion.

"It is surprising that after a call for the Rite of Annulment due to blood magic, the circle at Ferelden instead was offered even greater freedoms from the crown," Fiona cut back.

"I see, the rumors I seduced the King of Ferelden for the sake of my people are still in circulation." Whether 'my people' were elves or mages depended on who made the accusation.

"You would hardly be the first."

Lightning popped off my fingers, but I snuffed it quickly. Shaking, twisting away the thread of pain she tried to unravel, I composed myself, "Believe what you wish. My reputation means little anymore."

Fiona's brows met in surprise. "What do you want, then? Is it to be blackmail?"

Laughing at the prospect of my getting anything from the once Grand Enchanter, I threw my hands up. I hadn't expected this to go well, but a stone wall covered in slick ice was easier to overcome and more enjoyable. "Why did you do it? Why did you abandon him?"

It was probably my imagination, but I swore a shudder passed through her body. Fiona curled her hands around herself, trying to find strength from within. "I'd have thought you of all people would know the answer to that. What happens to a child born of a mage? Or a one that's half elf? And you think the Grey Wardens would raise one in the ranks? He could toddle around the pile of darkspawn corpses and cut his teeth on a genlock skull.

"His only chance was without anyone knowing who his mother was. I didn't want his parentage to be known at all, politics mires things, but some things cannot remain a secret. No matter how hard you pray."

I shook my head, "You know your son was nearly a Templar. If it hadn't have been for the Wardens, you very well could have been fighting him in this rebellion."

Fiona only closed her eyes and sighed, "I did not want him to join the order, but Duncan made the right choice."

"Duncan?" I reared back. How could I miss that final piece? Because I saw the man through the same eyes Alistair did. A kindly but stern father figure who only wanted to do what was right. "Duncan knew, not only who his father was but his mother as well?"

She stared through me, surprised. Now it seemed so obvious. Of course Duncan cared what Alistair wanted in life, even bet on him surviving the joining because his mother already had. Maker, how could I be so blind? Fiona stirred the book around, shoving it close to the edge of the table but stopping before it fell.

"You may think me a monster, but I never forgot my son," she snapped up, ferocity burning in her eyes, "Never."

"Then tell him," I pleaded, but she shook her head as if the task were impossible.

"Some things in life come too late."

"Bullshit," I cursed, causing the older woman's eyes to widen in surprise. "You're both still alive, by some grace of the Maker. Nothing's too late while you yet breathe."

"Truly, you think the truth is always the solution? To every situation? How would your bannorn handle learning their king is half elf. Or that he has magic in his blood?"

"Screw the bannorn. Fuck all the nobility and anyone else keeping tabs on the throne. It's only Alistair I care about. All he wants, all he ever wanted is a family. And all he got was a mother he thinks he killed and a distant father that never claimed him. The best he can cling to is the mother's side of his dead half brother. He nearly died trying to save Maric, and for nothing."

My fingers bit deep into the table, clawing it as I poured out everything building in my heart to a near stranger. Fiona watched me, her head bent. Softly, she spoke, "I'm sorry. I misjudged you."

A cruel laugh barked in my throat, "You're hardly the first, just a rare one to survive."

"Indeed," she said. That tumble of black hair rose and sorrow dragged her face from a soft crinkle of lines to deep crevices of wrinkles. "And if I tell Alistair the truth, what then? He's already risking that precarious throne of his by inviting the rebellion here. If others learn the truth, will that not paint an even darker light upon him? Perhaps the Divine will find a better reason to send an Exalted March here."

"You've thought of every excuse to avoid it, haven't you?"

"Do you think your king would handle it well, learning his lineage comes from an elven slave that only escaped thanks to the appearance of her magic? How does one step back from that truth?" her lips quivered as she voiced perhaps her greatest fear in the world. It wasn't darkspawn, or templars, or possession, but the idea that her son would reject every part that made her the woman she is.

Rolling my staff in my hands, I tried to summon the strength to dampen the emotion roiling inside. "Your son...if you only spoke to him, you'd see - he does not hate elves. Doesn't see us as knife ears. He's done what he can to help the alienage, and the mages. Do you really think the rebellion would have a home, a place in Ferelden if he were not on the throne?"

Fiona rolled her eyes at me, "And that is due to your influence."

"No, it's because he has a good heart, sometimes it gets the better of him, but he - he always does what he thinks is right. Whether I slept with him or not, he'd still keep elves from starving the streets or mages from being run through by scared mobs. He did long before I ever batted an eyelash at him."

"I cannot give him what he needs. What you want for him. A family? I have none. There are no other children. It was just me, his father, and a moment."

"An accident," I scoffed.

"I would never call him that."

"But you will never acknowledge him either, just like his father."

Fiona's eyes bore into me much the same way a senior enchanter would rip apart an apprentice's first fireball. "The world is not a fair place. I doubt I need to tell you of all people that. We are given no guarantees. Even hope is little more than a carrot dangled to distract us from the harsh face of life." She twisted away, swallowing down the rest of her empty aphorisms. Over her shoulder she asked, "I find myself curious why you care so deeply."

Because I love him. Because I cannot give him the family he craves. Because, after stepping away from the Circle and the Grey Wardens, I have no place left in this world. The voices nibbled at the back of my head, growing louder with my pain. If it weren't for Alistair, I fear I'd have taken the long walk alone months ago.

"You will not tell him the truth, then?" my voice croaked, broken from the emotion.

"It does not seem prudent," Fiona said, sliding away towards the window.

"You could die," I tried one last time. "The templars, or a demon, or Maker knows what else could fall from the sky."

For a moment she said nothing, staring out the window and watching the waves lap against the rocks outside the castle. Fiona broke from her vigil to face me. Her eyes never wavered from mine as she said, "We could all die at any moment, a pitch in the stairs, a knife in the back, an illness in the blood. If I let death rule my decisions I'd never have created Alistair in the first place."

"I see," I said, "then it's up to me to tell him."

She didn't pale or rise up in anger, instead a sorrow filled her face. "You know him best, better than his own mother. If you think risking his throne, his current happiness, and the memories he had are worth it, proceed. But I will not help."

I didn't take my leave, only cracked open the door to find the two First Enchanters leaning into it failing to overhear a thing through our combined dampening spell. Teagan was the only one I offered my goodbyes to. Even he tried to get me to stay, to work with the mages still settling in, but there was nothing for me in Redcliffe. There never really was.

It wasn't until I was four days on the trail, trapped between the Frostback mountains and glancing out over Orlais, that I took the time to pen a letter home.

> "Alistair, King of Ferelden, and Proud Owner of a Cheese Fountain (Maker save us all)
> 
> I need to inform you of something I discovered. It's about your mo-"

I paused. Being direct would only draw the attention of the bannorn. It may raise more problems than either of us would want.

"It's about your parentage." No, scratch that too. "Past?"

My quill hovered over the parchment. What good would this do? Would he rush off to find Fiona, bring her back to Denerim, endangering everything he'd worked to build? She wouldn't go, and wouldn't be as forthcoming with him as she was with me. Did I have the right to take away the only father figure Alistair ever had? Blotting Duncan's reputation in his eyes seemed the cruelest blow of them all.

Wadding up the parchment and tossing it down the mountain side, I began again.

> "Hello, love. All is going well. The Frostbacks continue to be mountainous. Even saw a ram slide right off the cliff and land face first into a snow drift. Few darkspawn, apparently they're as big fans of the cold as Marchers. Looking into passage through Orlais. Hoping to avoid having to wear the mask the Empress gave me, the thing is dreadful..."

It would be best if he heard it from my lips after I returned either with good news or bad about curing the calling. Let me hold him while I shattered and rebuilt his world. The truth could wait; we still had time.


End file.
